


Warm 'n Willing

by Crowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hadn’t even been sex. Not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm 'n Willing

Sam stares at Dean.

Dean waits, then nods, then waves one hand in a circle and Sam continues to stand there and stare at him, eyes wide with what looks like genuine horror. Finally, Dean loses patience. ‘What?’ 

‘You _said_ that? To _Cas?’_

‘I didn’t fuckin’ say it to you!’

‘Jesus, Dean, how stupid are _you!’_

Dean grits his teeth. ‘Say what, little brother?’

‘I...just...I can’t...’ Sam sputters himself to a halt, then stares at Dean again. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

* * *

It hadn’t been much of a conversation.

The previous night, Sam had left the bar early, wanting to go over his plan for the next day’s hunt one last time, leaving Dean and Castiel alone at their table. Dean was amusing himself making up life stories for the various occupants of the place, largely to see how outrageous they had to be to get Cas to crack a smile.

‘Well, and her...’ Dean gestures with an elbow to an older woman with a dark birthmark, slightly faded by time, over her chin, almost like a half-butterfly wing. She’s leaning against the bar, gamely feigning interest in the story a man in a worn Atlanta Braves cap has been telling her for the past twenty minutes. He watches the couple for a minute, tries to think of something interesting to say about the woman. 

Dean can see her eyes drifting away from the man’s face; she keeps tugging them back, nodding and smiling, but the expression doesn’t reach any further than the corners of her mouth. He can see her hand drifting to her face, tracing along the edges of the dark mark, touching the edge of her lower lip, covering the mark, then moving away. ‘She’s lookin’ for something warm ‘n willin.’’ He says it with an exaggerated Southern drawl, hoping to surprise a laugh but the angel just looks puzzled.

Castiel’s eyebrows quirk together and he glances at the woman, then at Dean. ‘What is that? We are all warm.’

‘Yeah, but not all of us are willin’.’ Dean takes the last sip of his beer, long since gone flat, and hopes Cas won’t push the point.

‘What does willing mean, then?’

And so much for that. ‘It means...it...’ Dean glances around the bar, hoping for something, some _one_ else to demonstrate his point. ‘Look, okay, y’see her? over in the corner? by the pool table?’

Castiel squints into the dim light and nods. ‘Yes. A tall woman with dark hair. She is playing a game.’

‘Yeah --’ Dean taps his empty glass against the table. ‘And she’s been watching us for the past hour.’

Castiel frowns and shakes his head. ‘She appears to be much involved in the game with the long sticks and the balls.’

‘Well, those aren’t the balls she’s thinkin’ about, Cas, believe me.’ Dean could swear Castiel blushes slightly but he can’t be sure in the bad light of the bar. He rolls the base of his beer glass on the table, staring at it.

The brothel is still a half-painful, half-painfully comic memory and he’s sharply aware that Cas got little out of it except an abiding sense of confusion. He’d thought about getting Cas to give it another shot: find another town, another girl -- maybe something a little less... _overwhelming_ for the poor guy’s first time.

But the opportunity never seemed to show up and the more he got to know Cas, the more...presumptuous doing something like that seemed. It wasn’t his business what Cas did in his spare time: if he wanted to get laid, he would and if he didn’t, he didn’t. He didn’t interfere with Dean’s business, so why should Dean interfere in his?

Then--- well, he didn’t want to think about that night on the back road somewhere in Massachusetts. 

Why should he think about it? It was clear Cas didn’t. 

It had been one night -- the consequence of the Impala developing a slow leak in a rear tire that Dean hadn’t noticed until the damned thing ran flat on a back road between Nowhere and East Nowhere. It hadn’t been his fault. It wasn’t like he _planned_ it. If he had been going to _plan_ something it would have been _way_ better than-- 

‘Y’should go talk to her,’ he interrupts his own train of thought, setting down the glass with a louder thump than he meant.

‘What?’ Castiel blinks at him.

‘Well. You’ve got a fifty-fifty chance. And, Cas?’ Dean leans forward, putting his hand on the angel’s wrist. ‘This time? No revelations about her dad, okay?’

Castiel looks at him for a long minute, expression unreadable, then, to Dean’s surprise, he stands up and walks towards the woman by the pool table.

Dean blinks, surreptitiously pinches a fold of skin on the back of his wrist, shrugs, and watches for a few seconds just to make sure Cas isn’t going to need extraction by the scruff of the neck.

But...it doesn’t seem like he will. The woman looks a little surprised, but she warms up fast enough. Castiel’s back is towards Dean, so he can’t see the angel’s expression or hear what he’s saying but, hey, Cas is a good-lookin’ guy -- no reason he should spend all his nights alone or listening to Sam burble about hunting strategies. 

Or drinking piss-poor beer with Dean.

 _Well...Good._ Dean pushes his chair back, swinging his jacket on and heading for the door. If Cas doesn’t need rescuing, then he sure as hell doesn’t need help.

‘Dean.’

On the other hand, Dean’s been wrong before. He takes a quick glance over Castiel’s shoulder, but he isn’t being followed by anything or anyone. The dark-haired woman has turned away and is setting up a trick shot with two shot glasses arranged on the green baize. Her shoulders seem to be shaking slightly and he can’t tell if she’s pissed or laughing her ass off. 

If she’s laughing her ass off at _Castiel,_ that’s not going to be okay. ‘Cas.’

‘Warm and willing.’

Dean blinks. ‘Uh...yeah?’

‘Is that what you come to these places looking for? Someone who is...warm and willing?’ Castiel mouths the words carefully, as if he isn’t sure he’s saying them right.

‘I...uh...’

Castiel waits patiently as Dean’s brain short-circuits. Dean rubs at his eyes, tries to think of a simple answer. ‘Yeah. Sometimes, Cas...yeah, I do.’

Castiel nods. ‘That is not what I...want. I. Am... grateful to you. For the information.’

‘Cas--’

‘But it is not what I want.’ Castiel seems to hesitate for a minute then, stepping past Dean to the door, lays a hand on the crook of his arm. Even through his jacket, Dean can feel the warmth of Castiel’s skin and, for a split second, he wonders how that can be possible. ‘Thank you, Dean.’

Dean stands where he is for a second, then spins around, following the angel outside. ‘Thank me? What the fuck are you--- thanking me for.’ The last words fall flat since Cas isn’t there to respond to them.

* * *

‘What don’t I know?’

‘The fucking _obvious_ apparently.’ Sam gives him a disgusted look and turns away. ‘So Cas isn’t gonna help us out today?’

Dean throws up his hands. ‘D’you see him? ‘Cause I don’t.’

‘Great. Well--’ Sam turns around and slams the pack of supplies into Dean’s chest, barely waiting for him to grab hold of it before he lets go. ‘When you’re ankle-deep in ‘shifter blood just remember: _you_ said it.’

* * *

_Ankle-deep_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

It’s more like thigh-deep with splashes at shoulder-level.

The only good thing about the whole afternoon, Dean reflects grimly, dumping the blood- and slime-smeared bag in the car and slamming the trunk shut, is the motel room.

It isn’t so much a room as it is one of a number of tiny cabins scattered along a lake-front in northern rural New Hampshire. The guy who owns it -- currently calling himself Dave Jenkins but who knows how long that’ll last? He’s been Dave twice, Fred once, Henry once, and Jack two or three times since Dean’s been old enough to remember him -- was a friend of John’s. He’s not a hunter but he owes John for something, he won’t say what. Death doesn’t seem to have erased the debt in his mind, so the boys are always welcome to stay and, as the saying goes, their money’s no good.

They drive back to the lake in silence, Sam staring unhappily out the window, fingers twitching on his knee. 

Dean knows he’s rerunning the hunt in his head, trying to figure out where it went south -- well, further south than it had already gone with two dead kids -- and they’d ended up with a mated ‘shifter pair trying like hell to defend a nest which, it turned out, was full to the rafters -- well, sewer pipes -- with little ‘shifter babies.

He’d tried to send Sam out, said one of them needed to keep clean so they would have some semblance of normal coming out of the warren of pipes and basements. He could’ve taken care of the nest himself and saved Sam a few nightmares, but Sam refused, stony-eyed.

Dean doesn’t even have to ask the question: he knows Sam doesn’t _really_ blame him but -- Dean _had_ been the one to see the headlines in the local paper and suggest there might be a hunt there. Hey, it wasn’t like he got a charge off-- fuck. What was the point in thinking about it? 

They’d never met a good ‘shifter yet -- they didn’t just want to wear a human face and walk the human world: they wanted to steal a life to do it. It’s like someone had pointed out to them what a great deal humans had, but hadn’t pointed out how much work it was.

* * *

Dean pulls the car into the gravelled space in front of the cabin and kills the engine. In the sudden silence, the only sounds are birds starting to sing in the low scrubby bushes that stretch between the cabin and the lakefront. 

Sam sits for a minute then says, ‘I’ll clean the gear. You go get cleaned up.’ His voice is just slightly flat.

‘Sammy--’

‘Seriously, man.’ Sam clears his throat and elbows open the car door. ‘You stink.’ Sam glances at him sideways and Dean gets the message.

‘Yeah, and you smell like roses,’ he grumbles, taking the part Sam wants him to play right now, and gets out of the car.

Sam hauls the gear bags out of the back of the car and Dean stands by the front bumper for a minute, deliberating. There’s a small, water-efficient shower in the cabin or -- there’s the whole damned lake.

* * *

He walks straight into the water without taking off his clothes. It’s not like they haven’t had worse in the past and it’ll save them a trip to the laundromat -- the only thing around here Dave can’t comp for them.

The lake gets deep fast and he only has to walk out a few yards to be in over his waist. It’s late May, so the water isn’t freezing, but it’s not exactly... 

_Warm and willing,_ he thinks, splashing himself in the face with a double handful of cold water and shuddering. _Why the hell would that be a big deal? That’s all it was in Massachusetts, anyway._

He pushes the thought firmly out of his mind and ducks under the water, running his fingers through his hair and trying not to gasp as the cold water hits the back of his neck.

He stands up again, cold dribbles of water trickling down his back, turns around to face the shore and makes a game of seeing how far up the shoreline he can get his shirt and boots. The shirt lands in a sodden heap barely clear of the water but the boots land a few feet up the path towards the cabin.

He can’t get his jeans off in the water -- his fingers are starting to lose feeling a little -- but he scrubs at the worst stains with handfuls of water and gravel from the lakebed. He ducks under the water once more, then starts plodding to shore, shaking water out of his hair.

* * *

He makes a rough bundle out of his boots and shirt and makes his way back up the footpath towards the cabin. From a distance, he thinks Sam must have the radio on; then, once he gets closer, he thinks Sam’s talking to himself. Then he hears the trunk slam and an unmistakeable voice.

‘I should have been there to help. I am sorry, Sam.’

Dean freezes where he is -- then can’t think why he’s stopped. If he takes more than another half-dozen steps closer, he’ll be beyond the narrow line of trees that shield the lakeshore and only a few steps from the car.

‘Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t have done much anyway.’ Sam’s voice is accompanied by the crunching sound of feet on gravel.

Dean clutches his dripping bundle to his chest and tries to figure out what the hell he’s doing. If Castiel’s there then -- then where the _fuck_ has he been all this time and what the _hell_ is he doing here now and -- and why is Dean standing in the chill shadow of this birch tree when he could be getting the answer to that question?

‘Where is Dean?’

‘In the lake--’ There’s a rustle of sudden movement. ‘Whoa, hey, he’s fine. Just trying to clean himself off. He’ll be back in a few minutes.’ Someone drops something heavy on something wooden and Dean guesses Sam has dropped one of the gear bags on the picnic table outside the cabin door.

 _What the hell am I doing?_ Dean glares down at himself. The rivulets of water on his chest and back are starting to feel chilly -- the sun is warm but he’s in the shade and a breeze is rising off the water.

‘I should leave.’

‘Cas--’

‘If you need me, Sam--’

‘Yeah, I know but --’ Sam pauses for a long minute and Dean hears the creak of wood. Sam sighs: ‘Seriously, don’t you think you could just talk to him?’

‘I do not think it would do any good.’

‘But it’s been what...almost six months?’

There’s a long, soft sigh. ‘Longer than that. But--’

‘It’s not like he’s going to punch you or anything--’

‘I am not afraid of that.’ Castiel sounds almost amused, but he pauses, then goes on more slowly, ‘If I stay away...’

‘Hate to tell you, Cas, but it doesn’t work like that.’

Dean takes a step forward, then it’s all he can do to stop himself taking the last few steps through the screening brush and demanding to know what’s not fair? who’s this ‘he’ they’re talking about? who the _fuck_ has been making Cas sound like that? and where can Dean find him to punch him?

‘Dean does not wish to talk about it.’

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit._

‘And I will not make him.’

‘It’s up to you but... sometimes that’s the only way to get Dean to do something.’

* * *

Dean lies awake that night, hands linked under his head, staring up at the rough beams in the ceiling, listening to Sam snore gently in the next bed.

It had been _one_ night -- Christ, it hadn’t even been _sex._ Not _really._

He had to admit, even if the thought did make him shift a little uncomfortably, that he didn’t know quite what sex with Cas would look like. Maybe a little more...or...or if they had...well...well, he was pretty damned sure it didn’t look like-- like _that._

Yeah, sure, he’d _thought_ about it since, but it wasn’t like he’d had the chance to--...and, seriously, they’d just-- Jesus, and Cas was _still--_

* * *

_‘So. There’s that.’ Dean kicks the flat tire gloomily, then pushes himself to his feet._

_‘There is what?’ Castiel looks down at the tire, then at Dean._

_Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and glances at the angel. ‘Ever changed a flat, Cas?’_

_‘No.’_

_‘Great.’ Dean walks behind the car, boots crunching on the dirt road, pops the trunk, and grabs the first flashlight he can find. ‘Here. Hold it so I can see.’_

_The angel fumbles with the light for a minute, then the trunk is illuminated with a broad, white beam._

_‘Hey, that’s better than I --oh.’ Dean glances over his shoulder, sure that the flashlight didn’t have that kind of beam the last time he used it. Since Cas is standing with a small globe of bright white light over his fingertips and the flashlight dark in his other hand, it seems he was right._

_Castiel glances at his hand, then at Dean, raising an eyebrow. ‘Is this not sufficient?’_

_‘Oh, yeah, yeah...’ Dean shakes his head and turns back to the trunk. ‘It’s fine. Thanks. Aim it over here a bit, will you?’_

_He pushes aside his duffel bag, two boxes of shells, and a jug of holy water, and rolls back the rug protecting the spare tire, stares down for a minute. ‘Jesus Christ--’_

_‘Dean? What is wrong?’_

_‘--goddamned motherfucking sonuva bitch\--’_

_‘Dean?’_

_‘--fucking moron!’ Dean whirls around and shouts the last word into the woods. It echoes and dies away, answered only by a buzz of crickets and the sudden silencing of the peeping of frogs in the ditch. _

_‘Dean?’ Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder and Dean glowers at him._

_‘I’m a fucking idiot, Cas.’_

_‘You are not.’_

_‘It isn’t up for debate. We haven’t got a spare.’ Dean slams the trunk down so hard the car rocks on its springs._

_‘Why not?’_

_‘Because I forgot to get another one, that’s why. The old one was shot and Bobby got a new one for me -- and I know right the fuck where it is, too.’ Dean brings his hand down flat, making the trunk ring like a struck drum and his arm tingle to the elbow. ‘Motherfucker.’ He shakes out his hand._

_‘Can you fix this one?’ Castiel angles the light so it shines on the rear wheel._

_Dean sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and kneels to examine it. He runs a hand over the tread, brushing aside grit and gravel from the dirt road they’d been on for the last half hour, trying to take a short-cut between Route 2 and I-95. ‘Bring the light a little closer?’_

_He hears the angel kneel down beside and slightly behind him and the light shows the tire clearly -- a little too clearly because now he can see the rent in the rubber of the wall, near the edge of the hubcap. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it in daylight without looking for it, but this sharp bright light is too clear to miss it. ‘Shit.’ He runs a thumb over it, feels the sharp edges of the rubber, and thinks of how many thousand miles that tire has run for him. ‘No, I can’t fix it. Can you?’_

_He doesn’t expect the angel to take him seriously, but Castiel leans forward, balancing himself neatly on the outspread fingers of his light-less hand, and inspects the tire. His shoulder is nearly touching Dean’s chest and Dean almost moves back -- then doesn’t. Why should he? It’s not like Cas’ grip of “personal space” is any better than it was when he used to appear out of nowhere practically nose-to-nose with Dean. If it doesn’t bother him, why should it bother Dean?_

_The bright light hesitates for a minute, then plucks itself loose from Castiel’s fingers and float just above the tire, putting the dust on the black body panels into harsh relief. Dean just about keeps his mouth shut with an effort._

_Castiel reaches out and strokes a finger over the break in the rubber and Dean can see him frowning slightly. He hesitates for a moment, then presses the flat of his hand over the rent. Dean sees him close his eyes then, without any warning, Castiel collapses against him, overbalancing the younger man and sprawling them both in the road._

_‘Cas!’ Dean scrabbles at the man’s shoulders and manages to pull himself out from under the weight of the angel’s body, then yank Castiel upright. The angel’s eyes are still closed, his head is slightly cocked as though he is listening to something or about to speak. ‘Cas! What the fuck was that! C’mon -- Cas!’_

_‘I...cannot fix it.’ Castiel blinks his eyes open and sits up, planting a hand flat in the dirt of the road._

_‘So you decided to pass the hell out!’ Dean brushes gravel off his palms, glaring at him. He hates it when Cas does shit like that._

_‘No. I am...sorry.’ Castiel shakes his head, brushing a hand over his face. ‘I lost focus.’_

_‘Next time just say you can’t do it, okay?’_

_Castiel bows his head slightly. ‘I will remember. I did not hurt you?’_

_Dean shakes his head, pushing himself up to his knees. ‘Nope.’ He looks back at the car, then glances down the road, then back the way they have come, and sighs, sagging back onto his heels. ‘Fuck. D’you remember how far back the last town was?’_

_‘Approximately...fifteen miles. It was very small. There was no gas station.’_

_‘Well, there’s gotta be one somewhere.’ Dean shoves himself to his feet and tries to pick a direction: ahead and behind look equally unimpressive in the growing darkness. There’s a heavy line of trees along each side of the road, spreading out to what looks like quite a stretch of solid woods. The road on either hand looks almost like a tunnel as the light fades and the trees seem to grow and swell into dark walls._

_‘If you will wait until morning,’ Castiel says, almost diffidently, as he gets to his feet. The light, unasked but obedient, bobs up to the level of the car roof. ‘I can retrieve the tire from Bobby’s.’_

_‘Hey...’ Dean brightens. ‘Hey, there’s an idea. Could you do it now?’_

_Castiel shakes his head. ‘Bobby is not home and I would not know what to get.’_

_‘I could tell you--’_

_‘Dean. I would be as likely to bring you back a ...a tractor tire as the correct one for your car.’ The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirks up and Dean grins at him._

_‘Yeah, okay.’_

_‘If you were willing to travel with me--’_

_‘Hell, no. You know it fucks with my stomach.’ Dean leans back against the hood of the car and crosses his arms firmly._

_‘Then I fear we have only the one option.’_

_Dean sighs. ‘Well. At least it’s warm.’_

_The August night is, in fact, a little heavy, the air damp and thick with moisture, and Dean thinks he can hear a far-off rumble of thunder. He can’t see much of the sky except what’s right over head and that’s starting to prick out bright with stars. The frogs have started up their calling in the water by the side of the road and the crickets have never really stopped._

_The globe of light vanishes and Castiel leans against the car door beside Dean, the side-view mirror between them._

_‘So...how do you do that?’ Dean twiddles his fingers as if trying to snap out a soundless tune. When he stretches out his hand, he can just about make out his own fingers. It’s really more dim than dark -- but it’s only going to get later from here._

_‘The light?’ Castiel glances down at his hands and shrugs. ‘I...ask.’_

_‘You ask? Ask who?’_

_‘You do not like my answers to these questions.’_

_Dean sighs impatiently. ‘Just tell me.’_

_‘My Grace. My brothers and sisters. My Father.’ Castiel shrugs again. He is increasingly visible as Dean’s eyes get used to the rapidly draining light. There are bright stars overhead and Dean thinks a light patch between tall pine trees might be the moon coming up. There’s a breeze coming down the hill in front of them that smells sweet, like pine resin and overripe strawberries._

_‘So -- do they ask you for stuff? Like -- if one of them needs light?’_

_‘If Sam needed a light, would you deny him?’_

_‘No. But I can’t use the Force.’_

_‘The...?’ Castiel turns towards him and Dean can guess at his expression without having to see it._

_‘It’s...there’s this movie where...see, there’re these guys and...’ Dean waves his hands in front of him, then shrugs. ‘Forget it. I’ll show you sometime.’_

_Castiel nods but says nothing, turning back to his close inspection of the other side of the road -- or whatever the hell he can see of it in the dark._

_‘So...you don’t have to wait with me, Cas,’ Dean says after a few minutes. The night’s warm and comfortable, but it’s also early and there’s a lot of darkness ahead of them before morning. ‘I mean, if there’s somewhere else -- well -- I guess you could be anywhere else, right?’_

_‘More or less.’ Castiel doesn’t shift his gaze from the slowly brightening spot above the treetops where the moon is going to show itself soon._

_‘Right. Well. Uh. If there’s any...where you’d rather be...y’don’t have to stay here for me.’ It’s not like he wants Cas to take off particularly -- it’s gonna be a long night no matter what and a long night on his own is just...one more long night on his own._

_Castiel glances at him then back at the trees._

_Dean spreads his arms. ‘It’s not like I’m gonna get attacked by werefrogs or bloodsucking vampire crickets. Take off, Cas. Go find something exciting to do.’_

_‘I do not wish to be somewhere else.’_

_‘Why not, for God’s sake?’ Dean shrugs out of his overshirt and stuffs it through the half-open car window. ‘This is nowhere.’ He leans back against the car hood, hearing the faint tick of the engine as it cools._

_Castiel does not respond and Dean’s thoughts drift away in the direction of the other repair work on the Impala that probably should get done -- sooner rather than later if shit like that popped tire are getting past him._

_‘Why would I wish to be somewhere else?’_

_‘Gee, I don’t know --’ Dean spreads out his arms. ‘’Cause there’s fucking nothing here?’_

_‘You are here. I am here.’_

_‘Two doesn’t make for much of a party, Cas.’ Dean reaches over and gives the angel a slight shove on the shoulder. ‘Go on -- take off. I don’t mind, seriously.’_

_The angel says nothing, looking up at the dark hill in front of them. Dean tilts his head back, trying to remember what John taught him about finding constellations._

_He’s ridiculously pleased with himself when he manages to locate Orion’s belt -- and there was something important near that but what the hell was it...? He’s lost in trying to remember an old star-map John showed him once so when Castiel finally does speak, he almost misses it._

_‘What?’ He drops his head back down, feeling the rush of blood from looking up, and tries to make his dazzled eyes focus on Castiel._

_‘I like being with you,’ Castiel repeats himself slowly and carefully, as if he thinks Dean has suddenly become hard of hearing._

_Dean feels a faint thrill run over his spine, a distant tingle of nerves that haven’t sounded off in a long time and he waits for a moment but Cas says nothing else and the pleasant tingle turns into cold lead._

_When he speaks, he knows his voice sounds sharper than Castiel probably deserves, but he doesn’t try too hard to change his tone. ‘Y’don’t have to keep an eye on me. Your righteous warrior’ll be right here come morning, waiting for his goddamned tire.’_

_Castiel makes a sound that’s almost a laugh and tips his head back, looking up at the same stars Dean has just been trying to catalogue. ‘Do you know how long I have watched you, Dean?’_

_‘Um -- what?’ Dean swallows hard, blinking rapidly to try and keep Castiel in focus as the light wanes. The trenchcoat is in the backseat and the angel had shed the suit jacket at some point so the shirt is a light spot -- but that really means Dean can’t make out Castiel’s face at all. He can see the line of his throat as Cas looks up -- but that’s not helping because that’s...it’s..._

_Well, it’s really quite lovely. Smooth and even and just begging for someone to reach out and touch it. Someone who isn’t here, obviously, but -- Christ, it seems a shame._

_And he’s completely lost track of whatever it is that Cas is saying. Shit._

_‘----all the time, of course. I had other things to do.’_

_‘Oh, well, yeah --’ He takes a stab at responding to what he thinks the angel said. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t watch me all the time, either--’ Dean stops talking with something that he’d never admit is a shocked gasp when Castiel turns around and is standing in front of him, against him, hands bracketing Dean’s hips on the hood._

_‘It has been... Difficult. Sometimes. To watch you.’ Castiel’s fingertips graze his cheekbone and Dean sucks in his breath hard. The moon is just rising, just enough light for him to see Castiel’s expression tighten, his eyes spark bright._

_‘Jesus, Cas...’ Dean’s voice is barely a whisper and he’s hanging on to the edge of the hood so hard he’s going to be surprised if there aren’t dents in the morning._

_Castiel’s thumb brushes lightly over Dean’s eyebrow, stroking over the scar from the car accident. His face twists again and he steps back, his hands dropping by his side. Dean wants to grab them and put them right the hell back where they were. But Cas’ mouth is turning down at the corners and he’s turning away. ‘You are right. I should--’_

_‘No.’ Dean would swear he hadn’t planned to reach out and catch Castiel’s wrist. ‘No, Cas, don’t.’_

_‘Dean--’_

_Dean curves his fingers around the back of Castiel’s hand, smoothing over the line between shirt cuff and warm skin. He’s not...really sure what the hell he’s doing but...hey, this is no weirder than anything he’s had to do bandaging Cas up, right? Not that he’s had to do that very often but--_

_Castiel chokes off a sound, clears his throat. His voice is rougher than normal when he finally does speak. ‘I do not want you to--’_

_Dean can hear his heartbeat in his ears, almost like the buzz he gets after a couple shots of whiskey, enough to make him feel like he can take on anything. His fingertips find the soft place just below Castiel’s thumb and-- ‘Jesus...take a breath or you’ll pass out.’ The angel’s pulse is hammering under his fingers._

_‘Dean...’ Castiel’s voice is cracked, broken, and Dean can’t have that._

_He leans forward slowly, slowly enough to let Cas have time to step back if he wants to, but the angel stays right where he is. At the last minute, Dean lets go of Castiel’s hand and touches his chin instead, sliding his thumb below Castiel’s lower lip. He can see the angel’s eyes flare wide, but he can’t make out his expression._

_‘Dean, you are not--’_

_‘Shut up, will you?’ Dean presses his thumb over Castiel’s mouth, preventing him from saying anything else. ‘’m thinkin’ here.’_

_He’s not sure he is, actually; he knows he’s feeling: warm skin under his hands, the faint moisture of Castiel’s breath over his fingers, that buzz of nerves down his spine that’s only getting stronger. _

_Castiel’s hand covers his, pulls it away -- but cradles it gently, seemingly reluctant to let him go. ‘Dean...I...you are not -- you are not like this, I understand. I do not expect--’_

_‘Can’t I get a little credit for being flexible?’_

_Castiel chuckles, but it sounds tight and painful, not amused. ‘I have watched you for many years. And I have never seen you be...particularly flexible.’_

_‘Hey!’ Dean grabs Castiel’s chin, bringing their faces within a few inches of each other so he can see the goddamned smirk on Cas’ face and-- and Cas isn’t smirking. He isn’t even smiling. ‘Oh, fuck...’_

_Castiel twists free of Dean’s hand and steps back, the shine that had been the only thing giving away the tears on the angel’s cheeks vanishing into darkness._

_‘No, Cas...don’t--’ Dean steps after him, but Cas takes another long step backwards, shoes crunching on gravel, and Dean stops._

_‘You are not like this, Dean.’ Castiel shakes his head. ‘I am...sorry for... I am sorry.’_

_‘Would you fuckin’ stop apologizing?’_

_‘If you wish me to. I would...prefer to forget about this.’_

_‘Seriously?’ Dean takes a long step forward and catches Castiel’s hands before the angel can move anywhere. Castiel’s fingers twist against his palms for a minute, then go limp. Dean pauses, takes a breath, cups his hands around Castiel’s, feels blunt nails scrape against his palms._

_He hasn’t done this -- hasn’t done anything like this -- unless it was some time he was really too drunk to remember and there aren’t that many of those. The tingle down his back and in his gut isn’t going away, but it isn’t turning into anything nasty either, isn’t turning into that warning buzz in the back of his head and -- and -- and this is Cas. If there was ever anyone who broke fucking rules\---_

_Castiel takes a deep breath and Dean remembers the dampness streaking his cheeks and feels a twist in his chest. That’s just not right -- if Cas is...is...is that fucking upset and Dean can fix it -- well, there isn’t much of a question there, is there? _

_‘You could at least give me a shot,’ he says and it comes out more like a tentative whisper than the bold statement he meant, but Castiel isn’t backing away which has got to mean something._

_Castiel says nothing but Dean can hear his breath coming fast and shallow as Dean leans forward, feeling a deeper tingle of anxiety than he ever had in a high school broom cupboard. He feels Castiel’s fingers tighten around his and gently frees one hand, cupping it against Castiel’s cheek, feeling the slight stickyness of drying tears. ‘Hey...Cas, it’s just me...okay? Just me.’_

_Castiel nods once, twice, a sharp jerky motion and Dean decides to shortcut awkward conversation and simply kisses him._

_It’s -- a strange feeling for a minute: rough skin, a prickle of stubble that might be him or might be Cas, he can’t tell, and the smell of motel soap from the shower this morning._

_But then Cas sighs, softens, fucking leans into him and that’s it: Dean is gone. _

_Stubble? Whatever._

_Stale coffee? He probably tastes of it, too, given that they shared the last cup a few miles back._

_Rough skin? Chapstick at the next gas station, no problem, and maybe steal the little bottle of lotion from the next motel room._

_And motel soap? That just means Cas was naked this morning -- naked with hot water streaming over him and--_

_Dean moans into Castiel’s mouth, then pulls back sharply, abruptly embarrassed._

* * *

Dean twists in the narrow bed, willing the tingling between his thighs to vanish.

* * *

_Dean pulls back just far enough to lean his forehead against Castiel’s, closing his eyes, wishing his heart would stop thumping in his ears for two fucking seconds so he could think. _

_‘Dean?’ Castiel sounds tentative, something that’s so unusual from him that Dean’s eyes snap open again. The angel is watching him from no distance at all, a sharp crease between his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth drawn in unhappily._

_‘’m I that bad a kisser?’ Dean hears himself mutter the question and flushes furiously._

_Castiel shakes his head. ‘No.’_

_‘Then why d’you look so miserable?’_

_‘I...just...’ Castiel bites his lower lip hard, then ducks forward. Just before he touches Dean’s mouth again, Dean thinks he hears a whispered ‘please.’ He has just about two seconds to wonder what the hell Cas is saying ‘please’ for before lips and tongue and Christ, hands, distract him from anything like coherent thought._

_Any worries he might have had about sexual identity or proclivity or even inclination vanish in the face of Castiel pressing warm against him and cool hands stroking under his t-shirt. If he’d had any thoughts about what he might do next, those are gone, too: Castiel’s tongue is way too insistent to think past and, beyond the taste of stale coffee, Cas’ mouth tastes of something clean and wet and warm and really fucking good that Dean just wants to keep focusing on._

_He slides one hand around the small of Castiel’s back, the other on his shoulder, then hesitates. ‘Cas...’ He gasps when Cas pulls back far enough for him to breathe._

_‘Please...please...let me...’ The angel mutters and presses in closer against him, close enough for Dean to feel how uncomfortable his jeans are and imagine how much better this would be with a bed._

_‘I’m not stopping you, I just...’ Dean’s sentence ends in a squeak as Cas gives him a last determined kiss and then slides to his knees, somehow managing to undo Dean’s zipper as he goes. ‘Cas!’_

_The angel mumbles something else that might’ve been in Ukrainian for all Dean knows because there go his shorts and before he has time to feel embarrassed, Castiel’s hands are on his thighs and his mouth is on Dean’s cock._

_‘Jesus!’ Dean grabs onto the hood of the car, planting his feet and trying like hell not to fall over since he’s pretty sure his knees are gone. He can hear the scrape of his boots against gravel and smell damp earth he's kicked up. For just a second, has a vivid image of how this must look: his jeans and underwear puddled around his ankles, Cas on his knees in front of him--- oh, who the hell cares? ‘Cas...you...you don’t...I...’_

_The angel licks a long, hot, wet stripe from Dean’s balls to the tip of his cock but makes no other reply. Dean can feel the angel’s fingers tighten around the backs of his knees and he's grateful for the assistance; Castiel’s weight against his legs and the car behind him are pretty much the only reasons he’s still vertical. Every muscle he has is drawn tight and trembling and he can’t remember the last time a couple kisses and -- well, yes, okay, a pretty fucking spectacular blowjob made him feel like this._

_Castiel isn’t the most polished performer Dean’s ever shared a bed with but he’s making up for that with enthusiasm and energy. He’s licking, sucking, nibbling, tonguing his way around parts of Dean’s body that haven’t gotten attention in far too long and Dean’s not at all sure he’s going to be able to hold out very long. He wants to push forward, thrust against Castiel, fuck into his mouth, feel that warm wetness from root to tip but-- _

_He tries to drag together enough brain cells to warn the angel. ‘Cas, Cas, I...I don’t... Jesus...’ _

_The angel short-circuits the attempt with fingers slid between Dean’s thighs, pressing against the spot behind Dean’s balls and that’s it: Dean tried to play nice, tried to give a warning, but that’s more than Cas can possibly expect him to take._

_He groans, grabs the angel’s shoulders and yanks him forward, feels Castiel’s mouth warm and soft and pulling and--_

* * *

‘An oil change?’ Sam asks with one eyebrow quirked high.

‘Yeah. It needs doin’. Might as well do it here.’ Dean leans back against the bumper of the car, the hood propped high behind him, wiping his hands on the remains of an old t-shirt.

Sam shrugs. ‘Whatever you say.’ He jerks his thumb towards the lake. ‘I’m gonna take off for a couple hours. You don’t need me, right?’

Dean turns back to the exposed engine, waving a hand over his shoulder. ‘Go press wildflowers or whatever it is you do.’

As soon as the sound of Sam’s footsteps fades towards the lake, Dean turns around, squints down the path to make sure his brother really is out of sight, then glares up at the sky. ‘Cas. Get the hell down here _now.’_

‘Dean.’

Dean whips around. ‘Why the hell didn’t you say somethin’?’

Castiel cocks his head to one side. ‘What should I have said?’

‘You could’ve....You...’ Dean throws his hands in the air. _‘Something._ Okay? You could’ve said _something.’_

‘Something.’

‘Don’t be a wise-ass.’

Castiel spreads his hands.’ I do not understand what you want me to say, Dean. What are you talking about?’

‘I heard you, okay? I overheard you and Sam yesterday and -- I didn’t mean to and...and I’m sorry, I wouldn’t’ve...but, look, Cas, you should’ve _said._ I mean, I...’ Dean fumbles and stops, unable to read what he should say next from Castiel’s face.

He slumps against the side of the car, then jerks upright again, a horrible chill snaking down his spine. ‘Christ, it _was_ me, right? I mean -- you weren’t talking about some other--’ He can feel himself going pale, the certainty he had felt all last night melting away before Castiel’s uncomprehending eyes. ‘Shit, you weren't -- it wasn’t -- oh, Jesus, Cas, just kill me now---’

Castiel stares at him for a long moment and then starts to laugh. It sounds a little rusty at first, but he gets into it after a few minutes and, as Dean stares at him, he staggers sideways and leans against the car, laughing so hard he has to lean over and support himself on his knees.

Dean grits his teeth and reminds himself he’s a responsible adult and he absolutely does _not_ grab angels and shake them until they stop laughing at him.

Castiel tries to take a long breath and breaks down again in the middle, practically hooting with amusement. 

By the time he finally winds down, he’s slid down the side of the Impala and is sitting on the gravel of the parking spot, knees splayed open in a pool of dingy trenchcoat. He looks up at Dean, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

‘So...’ Dean finds he’s still twisting the rag between his fingers and tosses it into the car through the open window. He slams down the hood and drums his fingers on it. ‘I guess I’ll just...’ He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and digs his free hand into his pocket. ‘Uh...yeah...’

‘Dean --’ Castiel stretches out a hand to him. ‘Of course it was you. Only _you_ would think it was not.’

‘Then why -- why didn’t you tell me? I mean -- did it seem like I didn’t have a good time or somethin’?’

* * *

_‘Jesus...Cas, I...’ Dean drops to his knees, panting. The angel is still kneeling, face flushed even in the moonlight. As Dean looks, Cas tastes the moisture on his lips, then on the tip of a finger with cautious interest -- then, in an apparent bid to bring Dean from flaccid to fully erect less than thirty seconds after a brain-pummelling orgasm, the angel sucks his fingers into his mouth, half-closing his eyes and humming._

_‘God... damn it...’ Dean lurches and grabs Castiel by the ears and yanks him forward, kissing him deep enough that he can taste himself on the back of Cas’ tongue. He breaks loose after a minute and drags in a breath. ‘Cas, that...I...you...’ He’s got about a hundred questions -- no, scratch that: a least a thousand-- ‘Are you okay?’_

_The angel is rocking slightly as he kneels, a little bowed forward as if in pain. ‘I...Dean, I...’ He looks up, eyes wide and dark. ‘I...’_

_Dean grins, feeling a totally unexpected rush of mingled tenderness and anticipation and, okay, a little trepidation, too, because, hell, he’s only ever touched himself: what does he know about how this works? But, fuck that, because if Cas thinks he’s getting off with one round of this, he’s goddamned crazy. Dean knows he's got a good sharp learning curve. This can't be any harder to pick up than...than changing a fucking tire. Anyway, he shelves all of that to worry about later when he’s got time to work on the whole ‘so, gay now, I guess’ issue._

_‘I can fix that.’_

* * *

Castiel shrugs, his hand dropping by his side. ‘You were interested in warm and willing.’

‘Oh, Christ.’ Dean gives up on standing -- dignity is something he feels he doesn’t have a lot of at the minute anyway -- and drops down on his knees beside Cas.

‘I did not want to stop you from finding what you desired!’

‘So you think I’d’ve rather spent my time digging through bars for one-night stands than--’ Dean waves at Castiel, at a loss for words.

Castiel’s mouth twists sourly and he gathers his legs beneath him, arranging his coat in a neat fan over his lap. ‘Convenience does not equal--’

‘Oh, fuck that.’ Dean falls back on his heels. ‘I thought... I...’

* * *

_Sunlight wakes Dean coiled in the back seat of the Impala and, without opening his eyes, he stretches out to find Castiel. His fingers find nothing but the upholstery of the seat. ‘Cas?’_

* * *

‘You left. I...I thought that was what you wanted,’ Dean finishes weakly, glancing up at Castiel and then down at the dirt.

There’s silence, the sound of a distant bird chortling to itself in the bushes, and the faint lap of water along the shore.

Dean plants his hands on his knees and moves to push himself up but gets no farther than sitting back on his heels.

‘Dean.’

‘Yeah, Cas.’ He glances up and Castiel is suddenly much closer than he had been, kneeling only a few inches away, eyes dark blue and sober. Tentatively, Castiel reaches out with one hand and touches his fingertips to Dean’s so their hands make a mirrored pattern.

‘It was not what I wanted.’ Castiel pauses for a moment, his fingers twitching slightly as if he wants to reach for Dean’s hand. ‘I...was sure you were...simply being kind to me.’

‘Kind,’ Dean repeats flatly. ‘I’m not that kind, Cas. _No-one’s_ that fucking kind.’

Castiel flushes slightly and keeps his eyes fixed on their mirroring hands. ‘If you were not, then...’ His eyes flick up to Dean’s face, then away, then back and, to simplify the whole problem, Dean simply reaches out and catches his chin, holding Castiel where he can see him.

He meets Castiel’s eyes for a long minute, lets the angel study his face, see his expression, feel his hand.

Castiel breathes out something that Dean doesn’t think is English and leans forward; Dean meets him more than halfway.


End file.
